


Stay

by Aziexxx



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Confessions, F/M, Grief, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 02:03:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18729484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aziexxx/pseuds/Aziexxx
Summary: “Did you hope to hide it?” Lady Sansa’s voice is soft, gentle. Pitying. “You must have known it would become clear to all soon enough.”“I- I had hoped to ignore it, my lady,” Brienne responds in a whisper, her throat sore from a day full of vomiting and mind-numbing nausea.“Hmm,” A hand is placed upon her shoulder as the lady sits beside her, and Brienne feels she must lower her head in shame.Written after watching 8x04, but set after the end of GoT; assuming Dany is Queen and certain other characters have since died.





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. So, this one is very angsty and ~SPOILER~ has a somewhat ambiguous ending. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

She can’t bear to look at Lady Sansa’s face when the maester leaves her chamber quietly. She knows exactly what expression she will find there and has no desire to see it any longer- she has seen it enough in her own reflection these past few weeks.

 

“Did you hope to hide it?” Lady Sansa’s voice is soft, gentle. Pitying. “You must have known it would become clear to all soon enough.”

 

“I- I had hoped to ignore it, my lady,” Brienne responds in a whisper, her throat sore from a day full of vomiting and mind-numbing nausea.

 

“Hmm,” A hand is placed upon her shoulder as the lady sits beside her, and Brienne feels she must lower her head in shame. “I understand. You must have been so scared, when first you suspected. But you needn’t be, Brienne. There is still time, to… _correct_ the situation. If you wish it, that is.”

 

Brienne can’t respond at first. Feels like she can’t even breathe. Perhaps she could have done so, _before_. Before all that had transpired these past few weeks; before when they had all been unsure as to the future of the realm.

 

Before ravens flew north, with news of the mad queen’s death. Of _Jaime’s_ —

 

“No,” she gasps at last, hand pressed against her mouth to stop what bile she has left in her stomach from escaping her mouth. “No, my lady, I do not wish that.”

 

“Very well. You must know you will always have my support, Lady- _Ser_ Brienne,” and Brienne cannot help the small sob that escapes her at the title, though she tries to stifle it. Lady Sansa hears it well enough, Brienne knows, but she has always been an astute woman – she does not coddle Brienne, or whisper words of insincere sorrow.

 

She simply squeezes her shoulder, and leaves her be.

 

That night, as with all the nights before, Brienne lays sleepless in her bed, plagued by her own desperate pleas – _Stay, stay with_ me – and the sounds of horse hooves galloping away.

 

 

 

As time passes, Brienne’s stomach begins to expand in a very noticeable way.

 

Soon, where once she had received looks of reluctant admiration, or even respect, she sees revulsion in peoples’ eyes. Disgust.

 

It does not matter that she is a Knight, that she fought in the war for the dawn, that she is a warrior. No, now she is just another whore carrying a bastard.

 

Worse- a whore carrying the _Kingslayer’s_ bastard.

 

Somehow, all know who fathered the babe on her – though, then again, perhaps it is not so surprising, as still even now she proudly carries a lion on her hip.

 

She receives a raven from the hand of the queen, Lord Tyrion, not six moons after the culmination of the last war for the Iron Throne.

 

Brienne expects many things – questions, perhaps, about the babe. Or perhaps he means to give her his condolences. What she does not expect is a request she ride south, post-haste. Although he explains little in his message, Brienne surmises from his tone and the brevity of the message that the request is truly urgent.

 

Although she wishes not to leave Lady Sansa alone, and moreover would normally perhaps not grant such a request without sufficient explanation, she finds herself wishing to go. It is the least she can do, she thinks, rubbing a hand against the stretching skin of her middle, for Jaime’s brother. And it would alleviate some of the tension she feels because of all of the _looks_ , if only for a short while.  

 

Lady Sansa’s expression is knowing, when Brienne hands her the raven scroll, and sad in a way that makes Brienne want to look away. She knows Sansa held no love for Jaime, but her lady is not cruel; Brienne rides south the very next day with her lady’s blessing, and a new cloak around her shoulders to ward off what little chill remains in the air.

 

 

 

Lord Tyrion, when she meets him at the gates of the red keep, looks haggard.

 

There are new lines around his eyes and mouth, as though the last few months have aged him years. Brienne knows the feeling – watches as his eyes rove over the new lines on her face, the bags under her eyes she has gained after weeks of stress, and at last drop down to take in her stomach.

 

“So, it’s true, then?” Are the first words he speaks to her. 

 

“Did you think it wouldn’t be?” she responds, more gruff than she had intended, but then it has been like that for months now- where before she had learnt to smile, to loosen that tightness she has held in her chest all her life, now it is all once more as it was before. There is no softness in her face any longer, nor in her tone.

 

“No, Ser Brienne, of course not,” Tyrion hastens to assure her, placating. “It’s just one thing to hear of such news and another thing altogether to see it with one’s own eyes. Anyway, you must be tired from your journey. Come, there is much we must discuss.”

 

Lord Tyrion leads her deep into the red keep, far from where she remembers the royal chambers had been- may still be.

 

The room he leads her to is small, and nondescript. There are no bawdy drapes or extravagant tapestries, and though she knows he is not particularly taken in by materialistic things, no more so than any other man that is, the room surprises her.

 

“I would not expect the hand of the king to reside in such simple quarters, my lord,” she murmurs, taking the seat he gestures her towards.

 

“Well, that would be because these aren’t my chambers, actually,” Tyrion replies, pouring himself a generous helping of wine and then moving to do the same for her before stopping suddenly, and lowering his hand sheepishly. “I thought it best we have some privacy for this conversation. Which can be a little difficult, in all honesty. Knowledge is power, after all, and the knowledge I intend to impart upon you, Brienne, no one else can know.”

 

“And what knowledge is that?” Brienne asks, intrigued, hand absent-mindedly stroking over her belly.

 

“Well. I know this will be shocking, so I suppose it’s good you’re sitting down. Even then, it’s a little hard to just- _say it_. I’ve not spoken a word of it to another living soul. I’m not even entirely sure how I should go about—”

 

“Just spit it out!” Brienne interrupts, annoyed and, though she is loathe to admit it, somewhat tired from her journey.

 

“Jaime is alive.”

 

He blurts it out, rushed, quiet.

 

Even though they are alone, his eyes dart about the room as soon as he says the words, cautious and- _scared_.

 

And Brienne finds suddenly she is not tired at all.

 

She stares at the man in front of her, heart racing, blood pounding in her ears. Both of her arms move to wrap protectively around her waist, and she feels as though she may be sick.

 

“Why… why would you _say_ something like that? How can you make a jape about something like this?” Brienne gasps, just as quietly, tears in her eyes that she stops from falling through sheer will.

 

“My lady, this is no jape,” Tyrion responds, leaning forward to place his hand upon her knee, eyes wide and earnest. “It was necessary, at the time, for the world to think my brother dead. It is still necessary, for reasons you will soon learn. I had intended to tell you later, when things had truly settled, but once we received word of your… _condition_ , well. He wanted to see you right away.”

 

 

 

Brienne feels as though she might faint. Or be sick. Or both.

 

She fidgets impatiently in the carriage they ride in, feeling cramped and boxed-in within the small space. She tries to listen as Lord Tyrion explains the whole, horrid story, but cannot focus properly as her mind spins from the news.

 

Cersei’s death. Daenerys taking the throne, and then the madness taking her in turn. Her order that they bring her the Kingslayer’s head, and many others besides.

 

It had been chaos, Tyrion informs her, in those first hectic few days. And Daenerys had been unreasonable, had been mad with vengeance after the deaths of so many she loved.

 

But Tyrion had lost many, himself – and he would not lose a brother, not to the Queen he’d helped win the Iron Throne. So, he’d spun a tale, long and sordid, of Jaime’s belated death at Cersei’s hand through poisoned dagger. He’d presented her with his “brother’s” head, while at the same time secreting Jaime away to safety.

 

It had not been easy. It had taken all of Tyrion’s cunning to arrange his brother’s safe departure from the capital and he had intended for him to remain away forevermore, if he could help it. But then, he says, they had received news of Brienne’s pregnancy. And suddenly his idiot brother wanted to ride north, was willing to expose himself – and Tyrion, besides – to the wrath of the Dragon Queen.

 

So, instead, here they sit. On their way out of the capital, in the dead of night, to meet a ghost.

 

Brienne’s hands are white-knuckled on the cushions beside her, part of her still half-convinced she is dreaming. Or that this is just one more cruel jape in a life filled with them.

 

But then the carriage comes to a stop and Tyrion is getting out of it. Brienne follows him after a moment’s hesitation, follows him towards the decrepit hut in the middle of nowhere that they have arrived at.

 

She expects him to precede her into the building, but Tyrion only shakes his head.

 

“I’m afraid I must go, my lady. I have already been away too long, and I cannot allow our Queen to grow suspicious. A carriage will arrive to take you back to Kings Landing tomorrow, at dawn.”

 

And with that said, he turns to knock on the door of the hut sharply, exactly thrice, before turning back around and getting into the carriage.

 

Brienne watches him leave, fists clenched at her sides, even when she hears the door slowly open behind her.

 

She almost can’t force herself to turn back around, but she knows she must.

 

When she does, her breath catches in her throat, and the tears she had held at bay finally tumble down her cheeks.

 

He has aged, as well. He looks gaunt, and sad, the lines around his face somehow harsher, colder.

 

She looks at him for a long moment, and then she cannot help the way the stumbles into him, hugging him tight against her, clutching at him. He holds her back just as tightly, breathing her in.

 

Then, he moves back and silently holds the door open for her.

 

She enters the room quickly, grateful for the warmth. She keeps a wide berth between them when she does so, though she cannot say why.

 

They look at each other then, more clearly now with the aid of candlelight. Simply staring, as though they each cannot help but look their fill of each other.

 

“Brienne,” He whispers her name at last, reverently, somewhat hopefully. But when he reaches towards her middle, hand outstretched, Brienne cannot help but move back, out of reach.

 

His face falls, head dropping to his chin. He nods, sadly, as though this is precisely what he had expected.

 

“I thought you dead,” She whispers at last, through her tears and with a hoarse voice. “I thought you _dead_. I begged you not to leave. I begged you and yet still you left, to be with _her_. I _mourned_ you, I—”

 

She has to pause, gasping for breath, as a sudden pain in her middle has her hunching over. Jaime rushes to her side, eyes wide, and she lets him help her sit down – her balance had gone all the way to shit mayhaps a fortnight ago.

 

“What is it? Are you alright? Is the- the _baby_ -“ His hands hover, indecisively, over her middle.

 

“The babe is fine,” she gasps out once the pain subsides. “The master tells me it is healthy. This has only happened a few times before, when I feel… stressed.” She hisses the word like she might a curse, unused to admitting any ailments of this kind.

 

Jaime is floundering, she can tell, his own eyes full of tears where he kneels before her. She can practically _see_ his desire to touch, to hold.

 

With a sigh, she grabs his hands, flesh and gold alike, and places them against her. Jaime inhales sharply at the contact, eyes round, before his fingers tentatively move to hold her more securely.

 

Before she can react, he moves forward to rest his forehead against her middle, his breath warming her even though the layers of her clothes. When he moves to kiss her stomach, she gasps, pushing him suddenly away.

 

“Don’t- don’t you dare,” she struggles to stand, wanting suddenly nothing more than to be away from this place.

 

Even though she has spent the last few months wishing more than anything to have only this.

 

“Brienne, _please_ ,” he begs, on his knees, clutching her hands. “Please, sit. Rest. I am sorry, more than you can know. I should have been there, with you. I should never have left, but I couldn’t rest without at least- at least _trying_ to save her. To save the babe within her stomach. Please, just, _stay_ ,”

 

He winces almost as soon as he says the word, no doubt remembering when she had begged the same, all those moons ago.

 

Nonetheless, he only grips her tighter until, reluctantly, Brienne sits.

 

She does not want to look at him, but finds she cannot do anything but now that he is so close. Even now, even after he had left her crying in the cold, after the terror she had felt when first she missed her cycles, she cannot help but look upon his face and feel love.

 

“I wanted to come to you. Once Cersei was dead, I would have come, but then the Queen…” He trails off, sighs. “I’ve had to stay hidden. Will no doubt have to remain as such for the rest of my life. And I know I have no right to ask this of you, not now, maybe not ever, but I was hoping- I was hoping you might come with me. Wherever it is I go from here. You, and our child. Please, Brienne, please just consider it..”

 

Of course. Brienne feels herself drifting somewhat, his words confirming the worst of her fears. _Once Cersei was dead_ , he said. _You, and our child_. Even now, after all of this, she is secondary. Unimportant. Second to the sister who would have killed him. Second to the babe growing within her, though on that count she cannot fault him – she too knows, with a growing certainty, that nothing will ever come before her child.

 

“Jaime…” She sighs, leaning forward so that she might rest her heavy head against his own. “You know I cannot. I serve Lady Sansa. And she has sworn to protect my child, as best she is able, and let me raise it, in Winterfell.”

 

From the way he twitches, Brienne knows he does not miss the way she says _my child_.

 

“Then I will come with you,” He replies, clutching her face closer to his own desperately.

 

“And risk your life once the Dragon Queen discovers you are alive? Risk Tyrion’s life? No, Jaime, you know you cannot.”

 

“Then tell me what I must do, wench!” He sighs, leaning back to look into her eyes. “I cannot lose you. I cannot lose this child. You are all I have left in this world, now.”

 

The words sting. He sounds defeated, subdued, and Brienne can imagine his thoughts well enough. 

 

“Forgive me, Ser,” she hisses, eyes stinging with fresh tears. “That I should be all there is left for you, _now_. But I have my vows to uphold, and an innocent life to think of. And you must think of yourself and your brother. I cannot tell you what to do now. I can only tell you what I intend to do – I will ride north, come the morning. I will serve Lady Sansa, and I will have this babe, and I will raise it there. Beyond that, I do not know what else there is to say.”

 

“Do you not?” Jaime responds, eyes sparking in anger. “Why come here at all, then? If you have nothing to say? If you care naught for me, about how I feel?”

 

“How can you say I do not care? I _begged you_ -“

 

“ _Then_ , yes, you did. Now it seems you care not a bit about me. Why is that, I wonder? Has Brienne the Beauty moved on so fast? Perhaps a certain wildling took her fancy and—”

 

She’s not sure if she means to slap him. Only that she does, and with considerable force, enough so that Jaime’s head gets whipped to the side.

 

“I _love_ you, you fool!”

 

He spins back to face her at her words, his shock mirroring her own. She’s not sure why either of them are shocked, at this point. It’s not as if it’s ever really been a secret, after all.

 

She means to stand, nonetheless, to escape, but Jaime halts her. His hand comes back up to stroke her face, to wipe away the tears and snot she knows only make her uglier.

 

“I love you, too,” he whispers, pulling her face back towards his own when she scoffs. “I do, you utterly idiotic woman! I love you more than perhaps I ever loved Cersei-“

 

“Don’t _lie_ to me—”

 

“I’m not lying. I promise you, I’m not. I love you, Brienne of Tarth, and I will always love you. Even if you ride north in the morning and I never see you again. Even if-“ and he pauses here until he is sure she is looking in his eyes “even if you did not carry my child, I would love you. Please, if you believe nothing else, believe me when I say that.”

 

She stares into his eyes, wide and green and beautiful, and wishes she could believe him.

 

“Come,” he says at last, when she gives no reply. “You’re tired. Come to bed, and lay with me. Just for tonight.”

 

And she lets him pull her to the bed, lets him take off all of the upper layers of her clothing. Lets him pull her beside him into the bed, and hold her close, and place his hand atop her belly.

 

“I love you,” he whispers against her skin.

 

And she lets herself believe him, if only for tonight.  

 

 


End file.
